Malchior's Hell
by Saint H
Summary: He gazed up at the semiexisting rolling mist that comprised the ceiling of his throne room, with a potency that any actor would kill for Malchior easily mused a scene of faded fatigue, failure, and nostalgia as he spoke, Raven, if only you understood...
1. Reminisce and Recollect

The majestic Malchior lounged in a throne of golden radiance warmed by rich crimson splashes placed mystifyingly throughout. Floating invisibly about the powerful eldritch light of his nigh-godly form was a palpable aura of…

Bored-ness.

"Uhhh…" Malchior's ice blue eyes trailed off lethargically along the pitch walls he'd meta-physically forged in his imprisonment.

Malchior had been soulfully shackled in this prison for such a very long time; far longer than the Earth has existed. When he was first banished to this Hell designed especially for him many dimensions' lifespans ago it had been nothing but torture and imprisonment. He was stripped down to his basic ethereal self and placed in an inescapable pseudo-dimension that was nothing but aether magically coerced into torturing his very substance for all eternity.

But despite the complexity of the deep magic used to build His Hell and to keep him there and tortured for all time, Malchior was too strong to surrender. After a millennia or so his sheer force of will had broken most of the original stipulations of his imprisonment, but never was he able to single-handedly escape or break the dimension. So instead he set about shaping it as he so pleased using a combination of his deep primordial magic, sheer force of will, and his wild and divinely complex imagination.

For an aeon or two Malchior was actually entertained, indeed joyously enthralled! Thinking up grand new sagas and stories and then having the power to not only write them down but to make them come to life before his very eyes. He thought that if he ever escaped the prison he would have to thank his jailors for showing him what it was like to be God. Thousands of sagas and hundreds of worlds with millions of heroes and villains with their stories stretching over their quasi-fictional histories.

But eventually even Malchior's cosmic imagination reached it's limits, he could think of no adventures that he had not already created, he could think of no great new loves, no great new evils, no great new paradoxes that he had not already done in every variance possible.

Malchior revisited the favorites of his worlds often but after several hundred times they lost almost all interest to him. So he resigned to organize all his great tales, thoughts, romances and philosophies. He created his throne room: the central hub of the pseudo-dimension that was once nothing but malignant aether, transformed into a glorious multiverse by the will of Malchior.

The throne room itself was a glorious place of vast volume. Long, white marble floors leading to walls of the pitchest black, interupted at artistic intervals by Corinthian pillars of the same marble-whiteness as the floor, that in turn lead up to a ceiling that Malchior purposefully left a half-formed construct: a semi-existing mist, just to keep things interesting. There were countless grandly arching windows that went from floor to quasi-ceiling. Blue curtains that mixed well with the pitch walls and the white floor accompanied these grand windows. Outside the windows was a wonder in and of itself. They would show whatever Malchior willed them to, but often times he would simply just let show the same mysterious quasi-existence of the ceiling.

He had willed many statues and fountains into existence, many of his own design, many from the time before his imprisonment, and a few he had seen and loved in any of the times someone had let him out of his prison, oh how he loved those times, and how rare they were. For you see even though it was his multiverse to control, even though he was its God, he was ultimately free to do everything and anything save for the one thing he wanted most: to leave.

It was significantly better than what was originally intended for him, but it was still eternal imprisonment.

To amuse himself further he created many fountains in his thrown room of various styles and beauties, all eternally spouting and flowing shimmering water of life. Along one of the far pitch walls was a seemingly endless shelf of books. So many books of every size, shape, thickness, and color. Each and every one held an entire universe, wrought entirely of Malchior's imagination that after countless visits to, Malchior had grown tired of.

Often times in his search for entertainment Malchior would muse about the times he'd been set free, recalling the euphoric feeling of freedom was enough to set the primordial being into a good mood.

An interesting thing that Malchior discovered on one of the first times he was mistakenly given temporary liberation from His Personal Hell was that the pseudo-dimension was transubstantiated into a tome in the actual multiverse. That he was essentially a primordial being of immense power, scope, and consequence stuck in the pages of some musty old book. But an interesting stipulation he discovered on a later temporary liberation was that he could control the text of the tome's leaves. He often chose his favorite of all the grand sagas he had woven:_ The Life of Rorek_.

Malchior had been accidentally summoned many times, and on rare occasion summoned intentionally, but always had he been put back. The reason for his constant conquer was another of the stipulations of his imprisonment that he had yet to overcome in the aeons of aeons of his incarceration: how to avoid being thrown back into the book. As things now stood and had always stood once any being spoke the words of his imprisonment he was pulled by his very ethereal essence back into the musty leaves, back into His Hell. The pseudo-dimension that was linked to his soul by the very same powers that set up the pillars of existence.

Malchior so loved these little romps in the real world. He would either cause mischief or he would patron heroes or inspire poets or insight rebellion or defend kingdoms (or destroy kingdoms if he was feeling particularly grumpy). Malchior rejoiced in noting all the changes in things since his last excursion into reality. In his more recent vacations he was euphoric to learn that an ancient race that he had been the creator of was still alive and was burned into the subconscious of the 'humans' that inhabited the planet that his tome had been on for many millennia. Dragons.

Malchior had been the first dragon; he took up the form long ago and was so pleased with it that for a long time it was what he used as his casual body. But as time went on the huge size and beastial nature of the body became cumbersome and he resigned the form for when he needed to be truly intimidating and ferocious.

In one of his excursions he conjured a race of dragons after the image of himself in that form, and that was the birth of the therionous race.

Unfortunately for Malchior, however, all these niceties were useless to him as he was always re-incarcerated into His Hell where he reigned supreme… supremely bored, that is.

Besides reminscing about the past and dreaming of future freedom he spent a great deal of his time in his thrown room, trying in vain to entertain himself.

Music? With a thought Malchior could have any band or orchestra or choir he desired.

Food? The merest whim of the primordial being conjured the most grandiose dining that had ever been seen.

Pleasurable company? Poets, jesters, heroes, philosophers, lady(ies) of the evening, all born in an instant purely out of his will.

Yet, being God had grown old for the being named Malchior, and this became evident as he sat on his golden and crimson thrown, glowing with deep magic, and tapped his long fingers on the armrest like an impatient teenager with nothing to do.

The long silver hair, the pale (nigh-gray) skin, the ice blue eyes, the robes and armor that would identify him to the Titans as the fictional 'Rorek' was the form the primordial being chose the great majority of the time. As has been mentioned _The Life of Rorek_ was his personal favorite of all the tales that he had fabricated, and the handsome body of the young sylvan hero had become one that Malchior wore so often that he had come to identify it as his casual body.

With the clothe down from around his lower face Malchior sighed and cast his ice blue eyes out across his thrown room, at all the fountains, all the statues, all the globes. His eyes traveled to his bookshelf and all the contents of the myriad of universes he had created, and all the wonder they had in them.

Malchior sighed once more, "Uhhh…" He sat back in his majestic throne and closed his eyes, rubbing his long, sylvan face with his mighty hands causing a few shimmering strands of his hair to fall into his face. His arms then fell back to their places on the armrests as Malchior sat in an unnatural silence.

With a deep breath Malchior thought about the most recent time he had been set free. It was the shortest amount of time he had ever been let out.

As his thoughts wandered over the event his soul, old as time, twanged with a pang of regret even though all of his senses knew he'd only acted as he'd had to. Like a small skylark flapping it's pure-white self across the dread basin of a dark storm cloud.

He opened his eldritch eyes half lidded and a name escaped his lips in a voice that betrayed pride, lust, admiration, hate, and remorse, "Raven…"

His head tilted back against his Supreme Throne and he gazed up at the rolling, semi-existing mist that comprised the ceiling of his throne room. With a potency that any actor would kill for Malchior easily mused a scene of faded fatigue, failure, and nostalgia as he spoke, "If only you understood..."


	2. She, His Random Key

Malchior closed his eyes, contemplating with regret and more than a flash of anger the summation of all the actions he'd taken in his life. In all likelihood his final chance for freedom had been spent with his last, brief escape from the prison of his kingdom. He'd seen the talent in the girl named Raven and knew the veracity with which she would keep his book shut and concealed.

With a sigh he spoke to the nothingness; semi-existent mist rolling down lethargically from the ceiling, gloomily lower than usual, "I saw her potential, if she lives past her twentieth birthday there won't be a thing in _this_ universe fit to best her… except maybe her teammates united. Or myself, though obviously I'm in no position to attack anyone." Staring at the metaphysical walls of his pseudo-dimensional prison, Malchior came to a grim realization.

"Heh... sweet Ginnugagap… I'm talking to myself."

The primordial being stared into the twisting quasi-mist of the ceiling and closed his ice blue eyes, his sylvan face gracefully contorted into the look of a being with a severe migraine.

And the demi-god silently sat suffering.

Creator of his own multiverse… and completely and utterly alone. He thought back on his reasons for betraying Raven. It's true he played her, betrayed her trust and all the villainous like. However, he also did what he believed he had to do, and he would not have done it any other way. He had reasons, good reasons, life threatening reasons... existance threatening reasons, however long outdated the original source of danger may have been.

Honestly he didn't love Raven like he let on, but he definitely did admire her. Willpower, determination, wisdom, beauty, and potential for apotheosis: what's not to admire, even adore? He liked her, even lusted for her somewhat.

_'But after what I've seen, after what I've done. My ancient heart doesn't love like that anymore.'_

His innervision swirled with the images of his blasted past and blackened present. A cyclonic nightmare of fear and circumstance that either Fate, the Presence, or (most likely) his late kin in one form or the other had connived into wielding against him. The memories nearly dizzied the demi-god as he sat in his timeless throne room. In that silent moment, Malchior had only one wish.

Someone to tell _his_ story to, his past.

Someone… real.

And maybe, just maybe, the Presence was listening to his doubly silent prayer.

* * *

Jinx strode down the labyrinthial halls of Titans' Tower, her boots thudding quietly as her hips swayed back and forth. It was early morning, but if you'd looked out a window you wouldn't have had the faintest idea what time it was. The sky was dark, nigh black. Lighting was flashing with frequent spontaneity throughout the swirling aerial nether in glorious golden might. Winds howled in a tumult and rain bombarded the Earth in an armada of droplets. 

It all put Jinx in a fantastic mood as she strutted aimlessly down the hallways, humming a slightly off-cord tune to herself in seemingly impromptu celebration.

The chaos of it all put Jinx's sixth sense to rest. And seeing as how chaos ran it's eccentric self thru her veins she felt akin to the abrupt and unpredicted storm. Her pink mystic entropy danced joyously in her cat eyes and barely contained itself within her petite frame. The Tower was never so imminently and comically close to destruction as the reformed villain turned Titan all but skipped merrily down the hallways.

She had no reason or rhyme to her whimsical movement, she had no destination or origin, pointlessness was her point, she was completely and blissfully lost in the maze of halls that made up the Tower.

She loved being lost, there was something so disorderly about it that felt so right.

And so it was without thought, intent, or recognition that Jinx waltzed her way onto a specific floor of the Tower, towards a cold metal slab of a door that gave off a empathic aura of foreboding (only serving like a magnet to attract the pink sprite), and, tempted by the tempestuous hand of Fate, Great Lady Kali, or coincidence Jinx subconsciously hexed open the door and went right in.

Into the chamber, into the lair, into the haven…

…of the dark Titan called Raven.

The astral mystic was currently vacant from the Tower along with the rest of the Five. That is, the five original Titans.

It had something to do with a press conference and a daylong fund raising event for a disabled children's hospital or some similar feel-good charity Jinx couldn't, truth be told, care less about.

It wasn't that she wanted the children to go unattended or uncared for, it wasn't even the fact that kids usually cried for their mothers when they so much as saw her; it just seemed to her that people who are alive should be happy to be alive and make the most of what they have while they can. Though her limbs had never failed her she had faced more adversity in her life than most mortals, and that simple ideal had gotten her thru life thus far and had currently landed her in a pretty cushy life style.

A cute (and surprisingly deep) boy who's million-mile-a-minute antics where nearly random enough to satiate her primal thirst, a safe home with people who where at best her friends, at worst skeptical of her every move, and best of all not having to worry about the cops busting in at any given moment and trying to lock her up.

It was a good life, and she meant to keep on living it by the principles she had lived it by thus far. No matter that a certain dashing boy who rode (or rather _was_) crimson lightning had shown her a new way to live, she could live this way, _his_ way and still be a force for entropy, still be the stop along axis mundi for all celestial cacospirits chaotic, still live her life to the most. She was smart enough, strong enough, and reasourcful enough to live as a chaotic heroine with relative ease.

And along all these similar veins of existence and thought Jinx did tread fancifully into the dim lair of Raven, a place she'd invaded forcefully in the none-too-distant past.

The whimsical pink intruder looked around with unbridled, nearly childish curiosity. Either not realizing or not caring or perhaps a mixture of both that she was standing on hallowed ground.

As her pink cat eyes were gazing over a wall completely cover by a bookshelf Jinx felt it. A celestial call, a bass base beat, an overwhelming outcry, a… _primordial pulse._

A ripple thru the fabric of existence that struck hard in her soul and set her literally allegorical substance ablaze with energy.

Heart fluttering, fists clenching, eyes wide with excitement, fear, and curiosity, the aggitated and flustered Jinx turned and her pink gaze fell upon the source of the pulse. Her vision tunneled and for Jinx the entire multiverse bent around this single construct.

A musty old trunk, wrapped in industrial chains and locked by a massive pad lock.

Despite the eccentric swirling maelstrom of chaos inside the thin girl and the excitement she felt at the obviously forbidden trunk in the obviously forbidden room, Jinx spoke with a lucid, methodical voice- light, sultry, nearly a purr. She found speaking with her lucid method was the exact opposite of how she should speak as an avatar of chaos… so it was therefore exactly how she should speak- to the trunk.

"What are you? Why does she keep you? Why does she _lock_ you?" she cocked her pink head to the side and gave the trunk an energetically inquisitive look, as if expecting the trunk to answer.

Her eyes narrowed and glowed pink with hot entropy. She hissed.

"_Show me your secrets, little chained chest. What is your tale? Give me your substance!"_

Searing golden antlers raced and faded across the pitch basin of the sky in a scorching instant, synchronizing perfectly with Jinx's powerful hexes shattering the pad lock and chains.

The wasted metal fell molasses slow thru the thick air to the floor as if time had bent with the rest of Jinx's universe. As they landed with metaphysically deafening thunder Jinx gasped in pure ecstasy of immediate gratification. Without further prompting from the pink sprite the top of the trunk flew off with an ancient stormwind that manifested from null space and left the innards of the trunk open for all those courageous or daring enough to brave a glimps of it's mysterious, metaphysical depths.

The air shifted back to normal and Jinx sucked it in large gulps as a drowning man would after rising to the surface. The world around her had transfigured back to mundane reality… but the chains lay on the floor, and the trunk sat opened… its haunting depths calling to the fanciful destruction in her psyche.

She took one step forward… then another… a third step and she was in front of the formerly chained chest. With curiosity and caution the careful Jinx peered down into the musty chest's innards.

It was entirely empty, a huge gaping space with nothing other than cobwebs... and one book.

A large, white tome that sat at the bottom of the trunk with great supernatural weight that it had been gathering since so near the dawn of existence.

Jinx's breath left her, her normally eccentric and chaotically calculative mind went dull and without volition of her own she bent down into the chest, picked up the book, and sat on the floor of Raven's forbidden chamber.

She cradled the back of the white tome with enthralled care and awe, staring at the front cover. It was plain white, with a gray silver circle on it's front.

* * *

In his throne room, Malchior felt it. He had no knowledge of how he felt it but he did. 

A person in Raven's room other than Raven! A person born from the bosom of deep magic. Someone who had potential. Intuitively he acted on the subconscious certainty of imminent freedom. He flew off his golden and scarlet thrown like an ancient stormwind and howled with time-shattering force. His multiverse shook and blurred. Statues toppled, fountains cracked and spewed water, books fell off the eternal shelf and their inhabitants climbed out in their odd semi-existance. All blurred into a kalediscope of desperate desire: the primal call of freedom.

And so Malchior howled and his body nearly ruptured, and he sent out a force with more might than he ever had.

A force out of his prison.

A celestial call… a primordial pulse.

After a moment his howl ceased and he stood amongst his shattered thrown room. The sylvan form of his current body falling to it's knees and gazing up with desperate hope at the rolling mists of the semi-existing ceiling.

As the demi-god waited his multiverse began to heal itself. Slowly the rubble and shratnle levitated eerily off the floor and floated back to their parent structers. Fountains repaired themselves and statues re-erected themselves. Books reorganized themselves on the shelves and thru it all Malchior prostrated himself to the quasi-existing mist. Staring deep into it's twisting nether. Hopeful as fate took step by step by step.

And then it came like a Promethean spark. A thin line of light shot down thru the center of the ceiling, like hope shooting from Pandora's box, and it began to part the rolling sea of mist. Malchior's ice blue eyes danced with joyous delight as a flash of light exploded from ceiling, all disspaited and transfigured into the familiar scene of Raven's room… with an unfamiliar pink haired girl looking down at him, mystified.

Jinx stared dumbfounded at the eyes that stared up from the page that the tome had turned itself to the moment she'd made to open it. A torn page, revealing only the eyes and brow of a rustic man peared up at the sprite with an aeons old knowledge and charisma.

Then, to Jinx's supreme joy, dread, and disbelief, the book spoke.

_"Hello, my dear, it is so good to see you. But I do not believe we've met. I have been called many things in my long time alive but as much as I can surmise my true name is Malchior. And might I inquire as to the name of the lovely young lady before me?"_

"J-Jinx. My name's Jinx. It's a pleasure… M-Malchior."

_"Oh, dear Jinx... trust me when I say the pleasure is all mine."_


	3. Prelude to the Story

In a disclaimatory action I, Markus Saint, now do declare that Malchior, Raven, Jinx, all the Titans and the soon to be introduced Zauriel are all property of DC Comics and other associated affiliates.

Or, if you'd rather, I dun own none this shit right here. Also, for those of you being all 'Who's this angel bitch, bitch?', wikipedia it. No, fuck Google.

Now, enjoy the story, this is the only Author's note the story will have.

* * *

The dark basin of the sky wept violently tears of Coatlique, the Earth calling for blood. 

Antlers of blazing power and light reigned over the darkened vault and the wind danced all across and between heaven and earth with a tempestuous glee.

This was the scene before the titanic capital 'T' that stood on it's own elysian island in the City's bay. At the doorstep of this eccentrically designed haven a portal of black appeared ex nihilo, and slowly erupting upwards from amongst the dancing blades of soaked grass rose was an astral being with blood in her veins unlike any her universe had thus seen.

Wrapped in a heavy cloak, Raven stood strangled strongly so by her searingly silent suffering. Her violet eyes flashed malignantly with severe discontent as the large gate to her home opened.

After stepping in out of the storm Raven let out a breath she'd been all too aware she'd been holding. Already waves of relief flew into her frame as sheets of annoyance and uncomfort evanesced into nothingness. Still though there remained an inescapable aura of unsatisfactory emotions and malicious day-dreams set to appease the young woman's desire to completely and entirely _smite _something if only to let off a little steam.

Some of this bad karma may have been due to the fact that young Miss Raven was currently covered from head to toe in Plasmus' nasty purple goop. It was everywhere. In her eyes, in her hair, on her face, all over her cloak and leotard, in her boots, up her nose, in her ears, lying also in her mouth with such an unpleasant taste that the merest whiff of it would summon bile to your throat in an instant, some of the villainous muck had even crept up into part of Raven's person that the mystic teen would probably rather not have mentioned.

And so was the state of the miserable teen girl as she stood in the entrance lobby to her ridiculously unorthodox home.

Another factor in the fowl's foul mood was the fact that the stormy day (a personal favorite of hers) was taken up by some fund raiser/press conference Raven couldn't, truth be told, care any less about. And as if that hadn't been worse, Plasmus had struck some spot down town… trying to snag up some nuclear warheads or guns or condoms or some other errand that Slade must've felt was desperately important to have in his arsenal. Either that or the mastermind criminal was just out to make Raven's day a little worse. Which at this point the cloaked girl wouldn't have doubted.

It was just as Murphy had legislated, everything that can go wrong: will go wrong. And as Raven was fond of saying, everything that can't possibly go wrong: will go wrong anyway.

A green flea leapt off of Raven's shoulder and onto the floor in front of her… it shook as if working up the energy to explode out of it's own body.

Raven rolled her eyes as her temples pulsed… she and Murphy just _had_ to be right.

A green skinned boy appear from apparent nothingness, and with it brought back far too much of the discontent that had previously disappeared thereto.

"Hey Raven, cheer up some. It's not like Plasmus actually got away with the jewels from that armored truck."

Raven silently indulged in a wave of remembrance in order to block out the changeling, jewels, that had been it. Nuclear warheads sounded better to the young lady though… and Slade using Plasmus to pick up condoms was almost absurd enough to bring a smile to Raven's face.

"Believe it or not, Beast Boy, the fact that some shiny rocks have been saved from the hell of Slade's wallet is not enough to consol me… or drive away this horrid stench for that matter." She droned to the shape shifter.

Using his bestial nose the changeling sniffed his own goop covered self, "I heard that, girl. This Plasmus guy definitely needs to take a shower!"

Raven brushed past him in a well-contained huff, "I wasn't talking about Plasmus, Mr. Stank-ball."

The changeling stood there for a moment before frowning and calling to the blue clad girl, "_So_ not cool, Rae!"

As Raven levitated up to the main room a smirk melted it's way ever so subtly across her lips.

* * *

Steam rose up soothingly from the running shower and Raven was all too ready to enter it's cleansing embrace. Quickly casting off her towel and throwing aside the shower curtain Raven leapt into the warm, steamy fog of comfort with an eagerness almost never found in her actions. 

The mist consumed her thoroughly; she could barely make out her own hand in front of her face. Perfect. It was how she liked it best.

Apart from the main stream of hot water coming from the shining silver showerhead the warm mist rolled over her entirely in the spots the stream missed, the droplets soothing her as the goop she hadn't managed to wipe off prior where now swept up and drowned down the drain with a moments hesitation… and Raven was clean. Now she had only to get comfortable.

After washing her hair and body the young lady took a seat in the thick fog of the shower and simply laid there in the tub, allowing her foot to rest over the drain causing the hot water to rise up slowly around her… tickling her skin with a familiar touch.

She closed her eyes and let her mind clear. The strong muscles in her ironically petite body relaxed and she let out another sigh, releasing the pressures of the day.

And so she stayed in the misty main bathroom of Titans' Tower, chosen by her for it's spaciousness and the larger tub than found in her personal bathroom.

The mist rolled and touched Raven, the tub, everything in the room. An enigmatic fog forged of tiny droplets of heated water… floating mystically thru the air and dancing the line between liquid and gas. A puzzle by nature, and mystery by definition. A confusion in existence.

And Raven lay in that confusion… cleaned and relaxed.

* * *

Raven ambled down the hallways slowly, content in her warm bathrobe, her hair up in a towel. Her bare feet worked on memory all their own as they traveled down the often trodden path to Raven's room. They wasted no time and indulged in no distraction. Their destination was imminent and desirable, to Raven's room without delay. 

And so it was that after a few moments of calm walking the warm and clean young woman stood infront of the pallid piece of metal that was plainly her door…

Obviously persuaded open by an outside perversion... seeing as how it was leaning off one broken hinge.

Raven's violet gaze flashed with malignant majesty once more as she looked past her door ajar and into the depths of her room to discover Jinx sprawled out upon her bed, spread eagle, with a large white book help up above her face.

A large white book with a silver gray ring… a book that was _talking_ to Jinx.

Raven's jaw went slack and her senses became overwhelmed and a low, animal noise went past her lips in very unfeminine grunt of primal discontent, disgust, and disbelief.

Jinx took notice and rolled over daintily to face Raven, with a chesire grin she look gleefully at Raven and showed her the book, the page with Rorek's eyes. Jinx purred over to the enraged teen, "Raven! Why didn't you ever tell me about this? It's-it's wonderful!"

The book's voice took on a tone of chivalric annoyance, _"Raven, your friend is quite eccentric. Though pleasant she refuses to believe that I am an actual being and not simply some enchanted book made for mere entertainment."_

Raven glared at the two, her frie- her acquaintance and her ex… rolling around in _her_ bed! Now granted the fact that her ex was a book made it a little less dramatic, but it still popped into her head in that context. Rage nearly consumed Raven as she began to see red but with skill she fought back and drove her red demon back into the depths of her skull.

She calmly now beheld the pink sprite and the entombed dragon and asked plainly, a sharp edge to her voice as if the her tongue had been a sword, "Jinx… I did not tell you of Malchior because, like he claims, he is real, but he is also false. He is dangerous, he is deceitful, he is deadly. I know he has told you stories, tales of fancy and epics of emotion. He is a tale weaver of great skill and he had even put me underneath his thrall at one point in time and it nearly cost me the lives of the Titans. He is-"

"A dragon." Jinx chirped happily, "He told me about his transgression with you."

Raven's violent eyes narrowed dangerously.

And then, only serving to make her more enflamed with anger, Malchior spoke, _"Raven, the time for lies is over, for they will avail me not with you as my watcher. I have told your friend here only the truth about myself, about my past, about my present predicament, and about my plans for the future."_

For the first time since entering the room Raven looked the book right in the sketched eyes, "You have no future to plan for, snake!"

Her astral eyes flashed with hot gray power and ensnared the tome in obsidian substance, snatching it from Jinx's hands and slamming it shut, utterly. It flew into it's trunk, the trunk's lid was replaced and the industrial chains levitated and reforged themselves about the large chest.

Jinx jumped up off Raven's bed, "Raven, wait! He's not evil, just a victim of circumstance like-"

Raven whirled on the objector, "Like _what_, Jinx? Like you? Don't you think that's exactly what he wants you to think? He wants to paint himself as the misunderstood tragical hero and he wants to unveil a common ground between himself and you to make you even more sympathetic to his cause. He wants you to fall for his charm, for his wit, for his mind. And fall for him you will, and then instead of catching you he'll let you tumble down to the cold hard ground and shatter your heart, leaving the pieces smoking in the cold underworld. He will smite you for becoming smitten with him. And this isn't me being bitchy, Jinx, this is the voice of experience."

Jinx looked at the mystic teen frantically, "He told me you'd say that! He told me exactly how he betrayed you! Exactly how he did it and exactly how wrong of him it was! He made no excuse but he did tell me his reasons, and Raven they are good ones! If he had stayed instead of tried to fly off it would have been the end of this world!"

_Crimson_ flew across Raven's eyes for a fleeting second before melting back to the blazing gray, she spoke with a heavy, dread tone, "That is what he would have you believe, Jinx, and I cannot blame you for believe him. He is a master at tugging at the heart strings of a person, but I've become inoculated to his treachery thru experience and as long as I am his warden he is eternally trapped. Besides, even if he was speaking the truth, know that I have seen the end of this world before. Indeed I have _been_ the end of this world… and the rest of the Five and I did overcome. Malchior is a criminal, and like all criminals, it is our duty to see he remains in his jail."

Jinx shook her head, "No, Raven, you don't understand! I know he spoke the truth! He showed me, he showed me!"

"Haven't you listened to a word I've said, girl? He was just manipulating you!"

Jinx's face contorted into one of defiance, "How would you know when you won't even here him or me out? If you are so inoculated to his alleged malevolence then why do you shy away from facing him? He told me you loved him, and he told me he knew it, and he betrayed it, but he had reason. Trust me Raven he didn't want to hurt you!"

The room turned black and red seeped in around the edges of Raven's fiery gray eyes, the gothic room began to shudder with deep power and Jinx became acutely aware she had crossed a line that was better left uncrossed.

Raven stared with heavenly restrained demonic fire into those chaotic cat eyes, _"You want to leave…"_

Jinx could barely meet the astral lady's gaze, yet she answered, "You're damn right I do." before scurrying out of the shaking room.

And alone Raven stood, the shuddering stopped and the blackness all congealed around her broken door, repairing the damage and sealing the room shut.

The gray left her eyes and with it the strength left her body.

She collapsed to the floor, sullied and dirtied unexpectedly with the ghosts of memory.

She laid out on the floor for time unbeknownst to herself, weak, tired, and unrivalably forlorn.

And still, Raven absolutely _refused_ to weep.

* * *

High above the bay of the City of Angels there were clouds… gigantic, half real ships sailing across the winds carrying droplets of mist yet to form rain. An armada of these whimsical ships moved lightly across the sky as if out of joint with the rest of time. 

Above these part-ethereal silver-lined constructs, far above where man-made birds do fly, there was a technological palace. It's golden exterior was pale in the dream inducing moonlight.

And all throughout the labyrinthial depths of this levitating hall there was only one living being.

An angel honorably descended.

Deep inside the womb of the hall there was a room filled with technology eons beyond the reach of humanity inhabited soley by a pale, winged figure who was pacing in worry.

His golden eyes once again were cast over to a screen, showing graphs and charts and figures… but most disturbingly were pictures. Scenes of demoniacs and horrific hellfire that could not be the product of any human imagination.

In the center of these was a picture of a tall humanoid being, clad in hellish armor, with long blonde curls and flashing eyes of emerald hate.

All throughout the pale, winged man a shudder did travel, shaking his divine soul. He took a deep breath for strength and vitality, and then turned with determination and marched over to a keyboard. With one long, avian finger he pressed a single button.

Out from his palace shot a signal, soaring faster than sound out of the atmosphere and bouncing off a satellite to a strategic point on the globe.

Rocketing back down to earth the angel's signal found it's target inside a large, metal capital T.

Robin, recently returned from the same day long trials as Raven, stood in his roost of a room and removed his uniform, preparing for sleep. As he cast off the last of his cloths save his mask and put on a pair of light shorts he was interrupted by a flashing red light and a high pitched mechanized whine from the far side of his room.

In a half moment the Boy Wonder had crossed the room and pressed a single button, accepting the call on his emergency channel.

Masked teenage eyes that expected to see cape and cowl were instead greeted with a long pale face, golden eyes, and eldritch wings.

Slightly taken aback Robin was speechless for a moment, "You…"

The figure gave a tired nod, _"Yes, I know Robin. I'm the last person you expected to speak with today, and I'm sorry to call so late."_

Robin grinned slightly, "I'm the protégé of the Dark Knight… nighttime suits me well. I'm more curious than anything to know your reason for calling. After all you do tend to isolate yourself."

_"True enough. But something is troubling me. Something I've been studing and watching vigilantly for quite some time now, Robin. Something that I'm now sure (all too late) is coming to the surface, and something I know I cannot control on my own. Something... hellish."_

Robin nodded, "So you need reinforcements? Well, the Titans would be happy to help but… if it's that bad don't you think your Justice League ties would be more appropriate?"

The figure smirk ruefully, _"Yes, they normally would be, Robin. But not in this case… seeing as how the fight is coming to your doorstep."_

A brow rose over the Boy Wonder's eyemask.

_"Come to my home on the morrow, Boy Wonder, and I will reveal to you and your comrades what I know."_

"Of course… Zauriel."

_"Good night, Robin. May the Presence bless your host."_

Robin nodded, "Same to you. Good night."

Zauriel gave Robin a look of silent melancholy from across the screen before it went blank.

Turning back to his bed Robin's head swam with the descended angel's news. He laid down on his bed and didn't come close to sleep for the rest of the night.

* * *

It was in the midst of night and early morning and the storm still raged outside Raven's bedroom window. 

She sat on her bed, a determined look of total apathy on her face, she was clothed in traditional leotard and an old, heavy and battered blue cloak wrapped around her person, dull with dust from the astral plane as opposed to a nightgown for sleeping. For what she was about to do she did not want any sign of softness to show.

"Why am I even thinking about doing this?" she asks herself

_'Because jinx was right'_ answered some obscure voice in her head.

She thought back on the pink sprite's words with annoyance, _"If you are so inoculated to his alleged malevolence then why do you shy away from facing him?"_

Lightning flashed it's way across the foreboding sky vault as Raven stood and pulled her hood over her head, hiding her face. She walked with heavy footsteps across her room and, gazing down at the trunk as if the mere construct itself had done her some horrible wrong, she let the chains fall to the floor unceremoniously. She quietly opened the lid and promptly opened the white tome, knowing it would flutter and fly to the torn page. To Rorek's face.

And he spoke without hesitation, _"Hello Raven, I must say this is quite the pleasant surprise. I figured you'd be more sore than usual at me after what happened earlier."_

Raven spoke evenly, not betraying the urge to gag that had instantly arisen, "My spite and loathing for you is such that I'm physically unable to hate you anymore than I have for quite some time now."

The book almost winced, _"Too cruel words to come from such beauty."_

"Keep your kind words in your filthy mouth behind your forked tongue, snake."

"_If you didn't wish to hear me speak, Raven, why did you open up my prison?"_

Raven peered down ominously at the paper eyes with two gray eyes of doom, "You have, no doubt, worked your sweet lies onto my comrade and inveigled her into believing you to be some sort of… mystical, misunderstood anti-hero fighting since the dawn of time against all things truly evil. Or some other such supreme bullshit. This could be potentially damaging not only to the entire team, but to Jinx herself. For the sake of this I need to know exactly what you told her, word for word, so nothing Jinx says will catch me by surprise, and don't try to change the story around because if I find any inconsistencies… well, I have no qualms about sending this tome to a fiery end."

"_Of course I will comply. Unfortunately there seems to be some misunderstanding here. I have only told Jinx the truth."_

A nearby candle was sparked to life by black magic, it's flame too near to the white book cover for the entomed Malchior's liking.

"_Truly, what do I have to gain by lying to you now?"_

Raven rose a brow, "What do you have to gain by telling the truth?"

_"Little, but more than enough. Perhaps some small penitence if nothing else. But alas, you've asked me to tell you what I've told dear Jinx, and what I've told dear Jinx is merely my life story. You have no need to fear that I will not tell the story exactly word for word as I told it to her for I would hardly forget something so remarkable that happened only earlier today, adding on top of the fact that I'm a nearly divine storyteller… literally."_

Raven levitated up off the floor and hovered slowly over to her bed, which she sat cross legged upon. She looked at the book with a look of cynical concentration.

_"It all started, as these things so often do, with an enormously volcanic eruption of grossly copious amounts of violence, sound, and light. Or, if you'd rather, a big 'Ka-Boom'..."_


	4. The First Rebellion, pt I

Raven levitated up off the floor and hovered slowly over to her bed, which she sat cross legged upon. She looked at the book with a look of cynical concentration.

_"It all started, as these things so often do, with an enormously volcanic eruption of grossly copious amounts of violence, sound, and light. Or, if you'd rather, a big 'Ka-Boom'..."_

Underneath the shadows of her hood Raven rose an annoyed brow, "Skip the dramatics… and the sarcasm."

_"Of course, Raven. But truth be told, it did start that way. It being existence of course. And not too long after the birth of it was I myself born…"_

* * *

"… _You see everything primeval was shaped by some Ancient of Days, some Absolute Infinity, some Prime Mover that we've all come to call the Presence."_

In a twisting nether, primordial bolts of energy flashed and a maelstrom of power bulged and writhed, seething with great weight and crashing back in on itself in implosive orgasm.

_"You see, there is a source of energy where everything comes from, all matter, energy, time, space, magic, life… these all come from the Source. The Source's consciousness, the part that acts (albeit very rarely) in existence is called the Presence. More or less God, without all the religious dogma. Before making anything else the Presence made himself a little land to watch over existence from… a little place best called Paradise. Now no, it's not the Heaven that good souls go to after they die, the afterlife is completely different than most of your modern humans believe… in fact in some cases you ancestors where far closer to the truth, but besides all that. To serve him in this realm and act as his messengers he did indeed create the beings you call angels, though most are not the handsome winged humanoids or fat little cherubs the media professes them to be. After all of that nonesuch he turned his attention to the swirling mass of existence that the Source had defecated out. He set about shaping and forming it into a small, tranquil little land, and set about forming up the Twelve Originals, the first primordial beings."_

A lush green island floated in the middle of a vast chasm of nothingness. Grass, trees, plains and rolling hills inhabited the isle and were lit up with the pale, silvery cast gently out by a heavenly orb. Centrally in the floating terra firma was a small town made entirely of white stone. In the center of the white town, twelve figures, glowing with the power of the universe, sat around an emerald fire, talking, conversing, counseling.

_"You see, the Presence is usually a very hands off type of person. Most of his interaction with existence at large is almost always both vicarious and subtle. He created far more dimensions than the one the Twelve were given but like our own dimension the primordial beings in all others were given power over their abodes and sent out with the task of… doing whatever damn well pleased them. Perhaps fortunately, our Twelve thought that it would be best if they all sat down and decided what it was they wanted to do with the immense power they were to wield."_

Twelve eldritch beings now stood atop a high, glittering mountain, seven fiery orbs lit up the heavens to their backs as they stood, power radiating, as all the elements were forged, every molecule made, life sewn, every hint of energy and magic. Every single thing in the universe was forged by their combined might.

_"They laid the horizon. They put the heavens on a vault, and created the separating line betwixt corporeal and ethereal. The ground, the suns, the astral, all was made as they all together sought fit. You see, individually they were greatly powerful, but together the Originals were undeniable. But at first, it was just expanding their own little plot of land, a place we then called Mu. It occurred to them that they needed servants, and servants we made. But the Twleve could not afford to loose their servants or waste the servants efforts on entertainment, so they did something which was quite remarkable. They made another land underneath the Land of Mu. They named this long, flat and wild piece of land Ma. Far less tranquil, far less perfect, and inhabited by all manner of beast and brute. It was, like Mu, a platform and not circular like planets today, although unlike Mu it was extremely vast in its expanse. It was on the same night that this land of Ma was wrought that I was born. I was one of the first beings in the universe to actually be born thru intercourse, I might add. My parents were two of the Original Twelve. I was never explicitly told which were my parents, and like all of the second generation I was care for by all Twelve. But I have a strong feeling that the feminine grace, Nyx, was my mother. And I've also come to hazard the guess that the grim Erebus was my sire, though so content with his work was he that he hardly saw me any more than the other Twelve so he can hardly claim parentage of any sort. No, if any of the Twelve acted the part of father to me it was a being called Promeath."_

A thin, almost skeletal humanoid walked with surprising grace, nigh-floating amongst the tangled and wooded forests of Ma. About his gray persona an eternal aura of semi-existing smoke swirled, twirled and tumbled about him with an odd joy. Despite his wraith like appearance, there was a kindness and charity in his skull-esque face, those deep black sockets somehow emanating a silent reassurance that everything would be fine.

_"Though it would be hard to tell from his appearance, which many of your modern humans would best describe as… vaguely undead with a lemon squirt of lucifer, Promeath was the kindest and gentlest of all the Original Twelve. And although he did seek pleasure in the forever prostrated land of Ma, he did not seek it like his siblings ruling up in the land of Mu."_

_"Hear me out, Ea. We should be raising the races on Ma who show promise, not further insighting them to slaughter one another pointlessly!" _came the raspy voice of Promeath as he stood in what was now the metropolis of the White City, his skull-face looking pleadingly at a radiant, Baldur-esque figure.

"**Don't be foolish, Promeath. The beings on Ma are all bestial, its just they all have varying degrees of complex instincts that can easily be confused for intellect by the overly sympathetic mind, which you, gentle Promeath, do so appear to have."** As he said this the shining Ea put a kind arm around his wraith-like brother and led him to a precipice that dropped straight down for a depth that would take and anvil nine days to fall. At the bottom of this drop was the land of Ma. Together the two primordial brothers peered over the edge of their world.

"**See brother, we are the rulers of this dimension, you and I. We and the other Ten were placed here by the Presence with the power to do and undo. We have made order for the dimension, everything has it's place… and we made the world beneath us for entertainment, that is it's and it's ilk's place. It is the way the council has decided, so cast out your kind but misguided and indeed wasted sympathies. Trust me, dear Promeath, it is for the best, it is the way things are."**

His fel face fell, crestfallen, and blinked it's empty black eyes, cringing with sorrow. A moment later Promeath looked up into the shining face of Ea and gave a tired and unhonest smile. _"Yes… yes of course you're right, dear brother. Things are for the best."_

Pausing for a moment to cast his divine eyes across his brother's face, Ea smiled satisfied and gave Promeath a hearty pat on the back before walking off. Promeath turned and gave a small wave thru the air; his thin, skeletal fingers leaving behind dancing black figments of half-existing smoke. With a turn of his head that left the behind the same trail as his fingers Promeath peered his black gaze back down at the land of Ma, a forlorn but firm look set into his haunting face. As if he were a man knowing what had to be done, yet wishing for all his worth that it didn't.

_"The way things are... but the way things ought to be? …heh."_

_"And so things were for a time… until a dissention rose among the inhabitants of the land of Mu. A secession a long time in the making. You see, since their conception there had always been one of the Originals that was not like the rest. His soul was disturbingly greedy, his mind worked differently, and in this particular case, it was a dangerous difference. Back in those days we didn't have a word that identified with evil… but we did have one that was close, though it was highly more defined. Our word meant the crossing of boundaries. Indeed some boundaries do need to be crossed from time to time, but this one Primordial being was consumed with the act of crossing boundaries without thought to consequences, whether they be to himself or others. Sometimes breaking rules and crossing boundaries for the mere sake of it. He began to torture, he began to devour, he began to murder for the mere sake of it._

_"This being was known as Kingu, and for ages the other Originals and the inhabitants of Mu, myself included, let him be. Foolish of us it was, we all said he would come around to our way in time, we all said it was just a passing fancy. Inside we knew it wasn't. We knew he needed to be stopped but we didn't stop him, we just stuck to our forcibly forged blissful ignorance and hoped down in our heart of hearts that the problem would just up and disappear, but needless to say it didn't._

_"Finally Kingu stepped over the line… and killed one of the other Originals, Ea himself, in an arguement. In response the rest of the land of Mu assaulted him to avenge the fallen Ea. Kingu was the most powerful single entity on Mu, but none of the others on Mu would join his side no matter how much he insisted that Ea struck first, so he would surely be overcome by their combined vengeance. However, Kingu was not one to give into a fate so bleak, so he summoned up a race of beast from the land of Ma which he himself had specially cultivated, the Jotuns. They were a gigantic, therionious race, well endowed with magic. They fought ferociously against the gods of Mu and their servants, and Kingu set about weaving atrocities unspeakable. I myself longed to be down on the battlefield that shook Mu and Ma. However Promeath snatched me before the battle started and took me up atop the glittering Mount of the Seven Suns where the Original Twelve sat and oversaw the beginning of their creation. Before the fourth day dawned the battle was decided; the victor risen from the gore of battle. The inhabitants of Mu were victorious. Kingu was stripped of his body and his soul was trapped in a hellish cave, locked behind a door built by the remaining Ten Originals, to ensure that he would never again escape._

_"The surviving Jotuns were cast into another world that was built underneath the land of Ma… it was called Muspell, a land of fire and brimstone. Here the Jotuns were trapped forever to deal with harsh conditions, high temperatures, and their own despicable selves. For a good long aeon everything was fine, and went back to normal, Mu and Ma rebuilding in tranquil peace and quietude._

_"But the death of Ea and the rage of Kingu had left a scar deeper than anyone would have guessed. The ghosts of the past haunted a being whom was born only a few hours after myself, seeing the the first red dawn on Ma like I saw it's first moonlit night. A being named Marduk… son of Ea… heir to Kingu's rage. A being who lustfully fought in the battle of vengeance and, in it's wake, established the first ideals of justice. Ideals easily tainted, and corrupted. In his image would our primeval world crumble… and by my own hand would it be done."_


End file.
